


A Holy Ritual

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Porn, Shameless Smut, Smut, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 18:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20999594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Only a demon can bind him in this wicked spell and he’s sure the Herald of Andraste is one.





	A Holy Ritual

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t write. I’ve never written anything. I just had to get this off my system. You’ve been warned. Please be gentle.

Rather than being the Herald of Andraste, he’s convinced that she, instead, is a _desire demon_ in mortal flesh. She did walk out of the Fade, after all.

It was ridiculous how something as simple as her gaze can weaken his knees and make them buckle; How the curve of her lips and whisper of her voice could make his heart pound hard in his chest, and how the slightest sway of her hips when she walks could draw him in like a moth to a flame… It did not make sense for someone like Commander Rutherford who was too disciplined, iron willed and resolute to be seduced so easily by these simple things. He had spent all his life embodying the word ‘Order’. He had been through hell and back and forged himself as tough as steel.

So why is it that his primal desires take over and makes him lose control the moment she utters his name? He knows it. She’s a demon. One set out to break and tear him apart as they did long ago.

“What’s the status on the Western Approach, Commander?” The Inquisitor’s leather glove drags across the edge of the War Table as she eyes him, watching every inch of him.

A pause. She knocks two fingers on the table to bring him back to reality. A spell, he would realize later. _She’s a demon in disguise_.

His reverie breaks and he clears his throat, composing himself. “Knight-Captain Rylen and his men have secured Griffon Wing Keep thanks to your hard work.” He looks down on the parchment in his hand and continues, “Although, reports of water contamination due to questionable activities of the Venatori has left them without the precious resource.”

“Questionable activities?” She crosses her arms against her chest, squeezing it and tempting his eyes. _The demon knows what it’s doing_.

“They appeared to have dumped bodies in the well.” The report in his hands crinkles under his gloved fingers, “Another source is available nearby but it is, unfortunately, home to some very wild Varghests.”

“Do they need assistance with this matter?” He notes the slight shimmer of gloss on her lips as they moved and wonders if they taste as sweet as they look. Red, plump, and wet.

_I don’t need a demon’s assistance_. “I believe,” _I have it under control_. “They have it under control.”

“Good. Let me know when preparations for the bridge over the sulfur pits are underway. If there are no more matters left to discuss, you are all dismissed.” She turns and leaves but spell still hung on him like a veil.

He breathes in her lingering scent and recites a silent prayer in his head.

—

He wonders when this started. When did he get caught in her web? When did he start getting influenced by this curse?

He enters his tower and leans into his desk, palms supporting his slumped body. He breathes deeply and digs into his memories.

Was it when she came back from the dead, pale and freezing in his arms? Was it when she held the sword that carried the power of Inquisitor? Was it when she came back from Val Royeaux the first time, swapping her tattered old clothes for embroidered cloth and leathers and laces that showed more skin than what was practical at the behest of the Court Enchanter? Or was it in the middle of their relaxed conversations when playing rounds upon rounds of chess in friendly competition?

Maybe it started before all of that, back when she had given him that charming smile that warmed him to the core as she asked him to continue his lecture in the middle of the green and blue hues in his memory. Maybe the seed was planted then, in between secret glances and stolen touches, and it grew slowly but surely. The roots now digging deep into his tainted soul and body.

_This damn spell_. He sighed heavily. _How could I be this weak? _

It wasn’t the song that buzzed in the back of his head, nor the sharp headache that constantly pooled in his temples. It wasn’t the dreams— no, _nightmares_— that used to plague his nights, nor the forgotten feeling of the pull of his hand toward the box containing a life he had long left behind. These didn’t break him. He had endured the worst of that and only a ghost of it remains.

No, it’s the curse of that _demon of desire_ that’s making him lose every bit of him now. It’s the haze she carries with her that lulls him into a trance and leaves him trapped between _want_ and _need_. He only feels this way around her and he’s sure she knows it.

A knock on his door stops his mind from reeling. He bolts up into his usual posture, straight and disciplined and dignified.

“Come in.”

Loud creaking and light footsteps. She enters his office and his senses are pulled by the leash her wicked hex had tied around his neck.

“Inquisitor!” He recites a chant in his head, hoping to dispel the hold on him but he knows he doesn’t have that kind of power anymore, “Did you need something?”

She looks at him intensely. The same look that sets his blood on fire and keeps melting his iron will. “I thought we could talk… Alone.”

_Maker_, he barely catches himself stammering something in reply. Another canticle starts in his head, drowning out the whispers of her magic but the sight of her always gets burned into his mind.

The lock clicks and sure enough, they are.

“Cullen…” She drawls out his name, twining him around her little finger, “You look distracted lately. Have the symptoms gotten worse?”

_You know well what’s happening to me, demon! _ He closes his eyes and presses his fingers into his temples, hoping to keep himself grounded but the image of her, flushed and breathless and mouthing his name is so bright and vivid in the darkness. He inhales before starting, “Forgive me, Inquisitor. I did not mean to worry you.” _I will not be kept enslaved. _

He drops his hand to look at her and notices she’s stepped closer. Much closer. Sweat pools on his head and his brows furrow deeper as she takes the leather glove off her marked hand. _She wants to bewitch me again but this time I will be in control. _

She reaches out to feel his forehead and he freezes at the touch.

They stay silent for a moment.

Her eyes roam his face as she traces her hand from his temple down to his cheek. She sighs softly and trails her fingers on his scarred lips, moving ever closer.

He breathes in her scent of roses and peppermint, filling his senses and making everything blur.

_I will not be broken. _

“Inquisitor.”

She hurriedly steps back, uttering an apology, and holds her hand against her chest.

“Yes, well, you should get some rest.”

She leaves, as quick and light as she’d come, leaving nothing but the sound of creaking wood and clacking metal ringing in his ears.

—

He hates the countless nights she’s not at Skyhold.

The ones where he finds himself empty and thirsty, starving for her lustful gaze and her addictive scent. The ones where he’s left to conjure the image of her body in his mind, lines and curves so easily memorized. The ones where he resorts to touching his own skin, wondering if that’s how it would feel if her fingers traced it the way she traced his face. Soft and light. The ones where he brings himself to release, calling out her name alone in the dark.

He feels he’s sinned and he needs to cleanse himself but the only way is to pray… to her, worship her, and the cycle goes on. After all, she’s the Herald of Andraste.

But of course she’s not. She’s a _demon_. And he’s a fool for falling into her trap.

—

Another day comes and he hears the bell ring just before sunset, signaling her arrival.

He looks out from above the gates, and revels in her sight. Even from afar, she could still pull him and twist him and his heart stops for a second when their eyes meet.

Her gaze was glued to him, steady and focused. She knows he’s back in the palm of her hands. No… he never left. How could he?

She enters the gate and whispers to the messenger and was replied with a nod. Everyone around her scatters and she walks back into her castle. _Her domain_.

His eyes follow her, grip on the pommel of his sword tightening.

“Commander,” The same messenger was next to him in counted minutes. “You’re being summoned to the War Table.”

—

“Are there any other matters that need to be discussed?”

“No, Inquisitor.”

Another set of grueling hours of council done, half of it experienced in a daze. She always leaves first and his eyes always trail at her back, taking in the curves for another night. If his fellow advisors have noticed by now, any knowing glances they leave him with are lost in the air.

He stays behind and leans onto the table, trying to piece himself back together and focus on the work in front of him. He replays the discussions in his head, sorting and filing papers now that he’s back in control.

He grabs a chair and reaches for a quill to start working there lest he starts getting headaches or, worse, _daydreams_ again.

—

The streams of soldiers and messengers bearing reports and missives halted hours ago.

He doesn’t know or care how much time has passed but he’s grateful he managed to finish the tasks he had at hand.

Between the lyrium and _her_ song, he gladly welcomes any silent reprieve he can get… but it leaves him hollow and lonely, aching for _her_ and only _her_ to fill the void within.

He finishes up and moves to leave… until the door opens and he curses under his breath.

“You’re still here..?” She asked softly, alluring and enticing. “I thought everyone’s already asleep. Have you eaten dinner?”

He hears the door shut behind her sending shivers down his spine before he manages to speak.

“I was just finishing up work, Inquisitor.” He said as he gathered his files from the table, trying to avoid looking at her. Trying hard not to get lost in her spell again. “And no, I haven’t gotten the chance to eat.”

There it was again, that unmistakable scent of roses and peppermint lulling him into that familiar trance he so craved. _No, don’t give in! _

“I forgot Leliana’s report on the Antivan Crows.” She moved towards his side of the War Table, eyeing the paperwork littered on it. “Did you happen to see it?”

He picked up one of the papers and turned to her. His breath stops when he takes in her appearance.

A soft black silk nightgown draped over the Inquisitor’s body, showing much of her skin. Her neck, her shoulders, the lace on the hem of her skirt lightly hanging next to long legs so close to his. He’s mesmerized and aching to touch every inch of it. Her hair, still slightly wet from her bath sticks to her and makes her smell so sweet and intoxicating.

She leans into him, right hand reaching for the report in his, fingers touching and lingering. She’s so close, he hears her steady breathing. His gaze slowly follows the trail from her neck to her collarbone down to her breasts, peaks perked up from the cold of the room.

_Maker, _ he starts his prayers again. So afraid to sin, to break, to lose himself because that’s what they want. _That’s what this demon wants. That’s why she’s here. _

“Commander,” She breathed, barely a whisper. “They might still have some dinner left in the kitchen.”

But his wasn’t a hunger for food.

_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. _He chants in his head.

His gloved fingers moves up her arm, tracing softly. Her shoulders, her neck, the warmth seeps through the leather as he takes it all in. _I’m in control. _

_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. _He calls to Andraste.

His other hand rests on her waist now, guiding her closer to him, wanting to feel more. Her marked hand burying itself into the fur of his coat.

_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. _ He calls to the Maker.

He leans in, in a daze. Her lidded eyes and half open lips, red and plump, inviting him to come closer, closer.

_In my arms lies Eternity. _

His lips touch hers, sweet and soft. He inhales, filling his senses of her. His fingers tangling in her hair, damp and cold, sticking to the sides of her face.

She moans and licks his lower lip and the thread that binds his pieces together snaps.

He deepens the kiss, licking and nipping, in hungry fervor. His tongue slips deeper and glides with hers and his head reels from the rush. He drinks her poison and her sin and lets himself be completely tainted by her sinister spell.

They pause to take a breath but the magnetic pull of her seductive spell makes him crash into her again, his thirst never-ending. He feels her arch into him, her breasts pushing into his chest and he groans.

She feels so small and fragile underneath him but he knows she’s the one in control. She’s the one with the power over him and her moans and mewls are little orders she gives and he can’t help but comply to every single one.

He’s filled with the need to touch her with his bare skin and of course _the demon knows_. Her hands moving to take off his coat and unclasp his armor, dropping them one by one. The clanging of metal lost in the sounds of their lust.

They part for a moment to take off his gloves and his shirt and not a second longer, his lips are on hers again, sucking, tasting, biting. His bare hand feeling her neck while his tongue licks the lobe of her ear, his stubble prickling her skin, his other hand stroking the leg she hooked onto his. She moans his name and he comes back and drinks it from her, tongue exploring every inch of her mouth.

He presses her into the War Table, the hand that was caressing her leg moved to grab her ass as he grinds his hardness into her core. She gasps and kneads her hands on his strong broad shoulders.

“Andraste preserve me.” He murmurs as he trails wet kisses on her neck into her shoulders, her collarbones, down to her breasts. He takes one peak through the silk fabric and rolls his tongue making her cry out, his hands supporting her weight against the table. He switches to the other as her hands tangle with his hair.

“Cullen…” She pleads. _As if a demon would plead. _And his mouth comes back to hers, their tongues dancing with each other. His right hand cups her breast and thumbs her teat before going down to her stomach and trailing lower under the short skirt of her dress.

She gasps as his finger rubs her sex through her underwear. Hands that were mapping every inch of his body stopped and grabs his shoulder and the War Table to steady herself. The touch sending shivers down her spine.

Cullen pushes the underwear off her hips, down to her knees and she kicks it off, all the while kissing every part of her jaw, mouth, and neck. His finger moved to part her folds and circle her clit, completely wet with her lust, making her arch her back and breathe out a soft “Oh…”

He keeps his motions a bit more before inserting a finger into her and she moans louder, the echo resonating throughout the chamber. He growls as he inserts another digit, pushing them in and out, curling to press into the spot that makes her moan the most, while his thumb keeps the motion on her bud. He was losing himself to the sweet sound of her alluring cries.

He traps her moans and pants with a kiss but it wasn’t long before she started shaking under the strokes of his fingers. She cried out as she reached the height of pleasure, legs buckling under her, quivering from the sensation. He pulls his fingers out and holds her up. 

Slipping the silk fabric off her was so easy, the thin straps were already falling off her shoulders. She shivers in the cold air as he pulls back and beholds her wicked beauty in all her naked glory. Her skin flushed, eyes still half lidded from pleasure, and panting through swollen red lips.

“Maker’s breath…” He exhaled. It was just like in his dreams. His fantasies.

“Cullen.” She was singing her siren song again. But he doesn’t care anymore. He’s under her corrupt command and he’s here to offer himself wholly.

She guides him towards the chair and he obediently sits, waiting for his muse’s next order. Her fingertips lightly pushes him to lean back. He obeys.

She places soft wet kisses on his lips and his jaw, stubble tingling her skin. She moves down to his neck, chest, and stomach, as she kneels in front of him. 

The torches and candles in the room burn low and the bright moonlight catches on the stained glass and casts a halo on the Herald. She glows in the color and he swallows in the realization that she might not be his tormenter but his _savior. _

She releases him from the confines of his breeches and smallclothes and sighs at the sight of his hard manhood. Her deft hands reaches for his cock and begins to stroke. His low moans fuel her desire and she rolls her tongue at the tip, sending a shock to course through his veins. His hips thrust forward in pleasure, his eyes closed as if in silent prayer. She smirks and takes all of him with her mouth, or what she _could_ fit, and he growls.

She moves her head in a steady rhythm as she sucks and licks with her hand pumping at his base. His cock leaves her mouth with a resounding pop and she glides her tongue on his length before sucking and pumping again, his groans becoming louder and his head thrown back. It felt _infinitely better_ than in any of his fantasies.

_My demon, my Goddess. _She knows exactly how to unravel him.

His hand reaches for her cheek as he stops her. He helps her up and lifts her to the War Table, pushing aside the markers and inkwells and paper, unnecessary for his holy ritual, all the while meeting his lips with hers. Tasting his own desire.

“I want you.” He growls at her ear. His voice was deep and filled with hot passion, enough to make her tremble.

Deep wet kisses burned the fire between them. They press their flushed bodies so close, melting together, hands and lips exploring every inch of each other. He grinds the length of his shaft against her folds, their pants and moans resounding in the air.

_Oh dear, sweet Maker _everything about her was pure sex and sin and she was so _wet_.

She reaches down to his cock and guides it into her entrance whispering his name and pleading him to _take her_ and _claim her._ He pushes in, slow and agonizing at first but every ounce of his control dissolves at the feel of her warmth and tightness. He thrusts in hard and deep, making her gasp to the pain and pleasure of his girth, sending a wave of electricity up and down her body.

“Cullen!” She cried loudly into the night, filling the chamber, ringing in his head as he _fucks_ her over and over. Her hands were all over him, blessing every stained part of his being, cleansing his sins, absolving him of past mistakes. _Yes, _ he prays, _only you can save me_.

They both ride the pleasure, bodies melting together in steady rhythm. She’s so beautiful in the torchlight, _his divine Goddess. _ She moans out his name and he rocks into her, harder and faster, her nails dig into his back leaving proof of her benediction in this holy rite.

Countless nights had he imagined, tossing and turning in his sheets, the feeling of her and now he’s inside her temple and he’s here to _worship_. She licks and bites his lip and he moans in reverence to her power. Shivers travel up and down their spines as continued pleasure washes over them.

He murmurs her name, echoing low in the room, mixing with the sounds of their carnal passion and it’s enough to electrify her and send her over the edge. She cries out and bites her finger, shuddering under the pressure of his hips, still thrusting into her. She collapses on him, trembling with his every stroke.

Her walls tightened on him and he sharply inhales at the feeling. _My Goddess, my love. _ It was unthinkable how someone can have so much power, making every bit of him a slave to her. There was nothing left in him but the drive to show his veneration to her beauty. The smell of their sex intoxicates him.

Her eyes, her lips, her skin. He wants all of it. He wants to own every inch of her as she does him. His hips move in erratic pleasure as he nears his climax. Her whimpers and her pleas swirl in his senses as her tightness pulses and it pushes him over to his sweet release.

He comes in her, cries out her name to the Golden City and fills her with his seed. Slow thrusts follow and he crumples into her, grateful for the salvation she has granted him.

“Cullen,” she whispers into his ears, her arms cradling and caressing him in a sweet embrace. “I’m yours now.”

The haze dissipates and in the clarity of it all, he sees her for what she is. She’s so beautiful.

He captures her lips in a tender kiss and murmurs, “And I’m yours and yours alone.”

He was sure, then, that she was the Maker in mortal flesh.


End file.
